Now My Heart Stumbles on Things I Don't Know
by singyourmelody
Summary: So what if they were a story that never finished, a singular sentence, a novel with only one page? For all she knows of characters and narration and plots, she is sure of this: blank pages mean possibilities. That there is more to the story. That there are stories still unwritten. Marley and Jake, oneshot.


"Now My Heart Stumbles on Things I Don't Know"

by: singyourmelody

Disclaimer: Don't own Glee or the characters. Title is from Mumford and Son's "Awake My Soul." The two songs listed are "Atlas Hands" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich and "Young Blood" by The Naked and Famous. Don't own any of those either, unfortunately.

I know Jake and Marley have only been in two episodes and their characters aren't well-formed yet, so much of their characterization is my own and may not fit as the show continues on. Even so, this was fun to write and I definitely think there is a lot of potential for these two.

* * *

She learned to read when she was four-years-old.

And from the moment she closed that first cover, she was never without a tattered book in her small hands, her imagination racing through chapter after chapter, story after story.

She loved the places her books could take her, from faraway skies where she could fly away with Peter Pan to the mysterious world of Wonderland where she would solve riddles with Alice.

William McKinley Senior High School feels a lot like Neverland and Wonderland all rolled into one. She can be anyone here; her mother's silence has assured that. But she fears she has become too much like Alice, on the outside staring in, scoffing and passing judgment, when really all she should be is Peter, master and king over all he sees.

So is it any surprise when her eyes lock on _him_ that she should be mesmerized? He's the ultimate _in_, standing in the center of it all, and worst of all, not even caring. She's jealous. Or maybe it's desire. Whatever it is, he's the cause and she doesn't know what to do or say or even where to look when he comes up to her and suggest they hang out sometime.

He texts her later that day.

And all she can think about are Alice's words to the elusive cat.

_But I don't want to go among mad people,_ she said.

_Oh, you can't help that,_ the cat responded._ We're all mad here._

She texts him back.

* * *

She sings and he plays and the sun is setting just so and it's a perfect moment.

But three days later, he crushes her dream and suddenly she's Wendy, all grown up and recognizing what it's like to watch someone fly away.

* * *

So what if they were a story that never finished, a singular sentence, a novel with only one page?

For all she knows of characters and narration and plots that wind round and round like threads encircling that beating thing in her chest, she is sure of this: blank pages mean possibilities. That there is more to the story. That there are stories still unwritten.

And the pen is in her hand.

* * *

_If you cannot teach me to fly, teach me to sing_, the post it note taped to her mirror reads.

She had copied it from her grandmother's book of quotes long ago, back when being part of a choir was just a distant dream.

And now, now she has friends and a director and dance moves and songs. Most importantly she has songs.

She takes a deep breath before pulling open the choir room door.

Blaine's teaching Sam the latest set of eight counts and Artie's rapping as Tina and Brittany sing backup and the piano player is running through the numbers they've chosen for sectionals and it's a scene she has come to know well, a scene she has come to love.

She feels someone brush past her and looks up to see him.

"Hey," he says as he enters the room.

"Hey," she nods back before following and taking her seat.

Mr. Schuester enters and they begin.

She steadies her breathing once again. They have been working on duet singing this week and have been testing out various partners, trying to find the best combinations for their voices. There are only a few pairings left that they haven't tried and one of them is—

"Jake and Marley," Mr. Schue announces.

She doesn't look at him as she walks towards the front of the room.

"What'll it be guys?" Mr. Schue asks.

"Atlas Hands," he answers and she looks quickly up at him. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, um, that's fine," she stutters. She loves that song. And she's not sure how he knows that.

He picks up the guitar and starts strumming, eyes piercing right into her, and it's all a little too familiar for her taste, but she doesn't look away.

He inhales and begins singing.

_Take me to the docks, there's a ship without a name  
It is sailing to the middle of the sea  
The water there is deeper than anything you've ever seen  
Jump right in and swim until you're free  
_

He gives her a small nod and she begins to harmonize with him.

_I will remember your face  
'Cause I am still in love with that place  
But when the stars are the only things we share  
Will you be there?  
_

She looks around the faces of her friends, listening intently. She hopes that they can't see what she is feeling, hopes they don't recognize what could have been, all of the possibilities existing in the six inches between him and her.

He begins again.

_Money came like rain to your hands while you were waiting  
For that cold long promise to appear  
People in the churches started singing above their hands  
They say 'My God is a good God and he cares'  
_

She joins in and steps a little closer. So does he.

_I will remember your face  
'Cause I am still in love with that place  
When the stars are the only things we share  
Will you be there?_

_I've got a plan_  
_I've got an atlas in my hands_  
_I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons that I've learned_

He's stopped singing now and the instruments fade away, leaving only her voice echoing in the small room.

_I've got a plan  
I've got an atlas in my hands  
I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons that I've learned_

Her last note fades out and silence surrounds them. She lifts her eyes to his and he looks at her questioningly.

She gives a small shrug as Mr. Schue says, "Wow. Jake, Marley, that was amazing."

Tina pipes in, "You guys sounded perfect together. Did you practice that?"

"Um, no, not really," she says, weaving her fingers together and pulling them apart again. "I just really love that song, so I usually sing the harmony when I listen to it . . ." she says, trailing off. She knows there's no real explanation for why it works when they sing together other than _it just does_.

"Well this is definitely a pairing we will be revisiting again," Mr. Schue declares. "There's something here."

She tries to hide the flash of fear she knows must pass over her features and nods before returning quickly to her seat.

He finds her after rehearsal.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asks, his hand on her elbow.

"Um, okay."

He pulls her down an empty hallway.

"What the hell was that?" he asks and his voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"I'm sorry?" she asks, pulling her arm out of his hand. She doesn't appreciate that he is mad at her when he has nothing to be upset about. She's the one who is allowed to feel hurt. _She's_ the one who is allowed to be mad.

He shakes his head as if he's debating with himself. "You and me singing. It's not supposed to be like that."

She narrows her eyes. Normally she'd back down from something like this. Just go with whatever he says, but this is singing. It's important to her and he can't just brush it off like it doesn't matter. Like she doesn't matter.

So she says, "What is it supposed to be like Jake? Because from my perspective, that was exactly what happened the last time we sang together. Our voices just somehow mix together in a way that I don't understand. It's like I know what note you're going to sing before you sing it. And it probably doesn't make any sense, but that, that's just how we are."

He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out.

"And you know I'm right." She looks up and sighs. "Look, I don't want to complicate your life. I don't want to make things harder for you, but what happened in there," she points to the rehearsal room, "what happens in there is good. It's good for me. It's good for you. And I'm not going to stop singing or doing my best because you can't handle it or whatever."

She takes another step closer to him, "You're just going to have to figure it out."

"Marley," he says, his voice low and even as he steps closer to her. She can feel his breath on her cheeks.

"What are we doing?" she whispers.

"I don't know. I just . . . there's just this pull—"

And it's a nice idea really. That there's something connecting them and that it is so strong that it'd be pointless to resist, so they shouldn't even try.

But she knows that's a cop out, an excuse, a cheater's way out. And she's not a cheater.

She takes a step back.

"Jake, when I sing with you, I feel like I'm flying," she states, and it's one of the truest things she's ever said. "And we're good together . . . in there," she gestures to the doorway.

"Is that enough?" he asks.

She doesn't know that answer to that so she simply says, "It has to be."

* * *

Mr. Schuester decides that Glee should host a post-sectionals, pre-regionals Sing-Dance-Shine! Showchoir Showcase Extravaganza.

As the hosting school, they are not allowed to compete. They are however, allowed to perform an exhibitory number, which is how she finds herself pressed up against him in the middle of the stage with singers from five different schools and her mother watching.

Mr. Schue wasn't kidding when he said they would be revisiting their pairing again. And now, thirty-four takes later they are finally performing this song in front of people and yet thirty-four takes later it still isn't any easier.

That doesn't mean there isn't magic though.

It's there, floating around them when they trade off melodies and the lights shimmer down, catching her emerald green dress in such a way that makes her feel as if she's glowing, her arms and legs moving perfectly in sync with his.

And they sing.

_We're only young and naive still  
We require certain skills  
The mood it changes like the wind  
Hard to control when it begins_

_The bittersweet between my teeth_  
_Trying to find the in-betweens_  
_Fall back in love eventually_  
_Yeah yeah yeah yeah_

_Can't help myself but count the flaws_  
_Claw my way out through these walls_  
_One temporary escape_  
_Feel it start to permeate_

The choir changes formation, the girls' skirts fanning out around them, the boys' fancy footwork highlighting their hours of dance practice. The music swells around them, spreading to every corner of the auditorium.

_We lie beneath the stars at night_  
_Our hands gripping each other tight_  
_You keep my secrets hope to die_  
_Promises, swear them to the sky_

_The bittersweet between my teeth_  
_Trying to find the in-betweens_  
_Fall back in love eventually_  
_Yeah yeah yeah yeah_

When they get to the bridge, he grabs her hand and spins her around. They've done this more times than she can count, but she has never gotten used to the feeling of his fingers on her hipbone and his chest pressed against her back. Her right hand reaches up behind his head and they are so, so close.

_As it withers_  
_Brittle it shakes_  
_Can you whisper_  
_As it crumbles and breaks_  
_As you shiver_  
_Count up all your mistakes_  
_Pair of forgivers_  
_Let go before it's too late_  
_Can you whisper_  
_Can you whisper_  
_Can you whisper_  
_Can you whisper_

_The bittersweet between my teeth_  
_Trying to find the in-betweens_  
_Fall back in love eventually_  
_Yeah yeah yeah yeah_  
_The bittersweet between my teeth_  
_Trying to find the in-betweens_  
_Fall back in love eventually_  
_Yeah yeah yeah yeah_

The song ends and she is bent backwards over his arm for their final pose. He slowly lifts her to a standing position and she closes her eyes.

He leans closer.

"You can't tell me this isn't real," he says, quietly for only her to hear, "that I am dreaming this all up."

And she says the only thing she can think of, the thing the Mad Hatter tells the confused and frustrated Alice, "'You would have to be half mad to dream me up.'"

His brow furrows, but he lets her go and as he moves away, she finally notices the applause surrounding them.

Backstage Mr. Schuester looks as if he might burst with pride. He goes on and on about how good their chances are looking for regionals based on that performance and the girls squeal and the guys high five and she sees him slip out the side door.

Not know what she is doing or why, she follows him.

He looks startled when the door slams shut behind her.

"What are you doing here, Marley?" he asks.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay. . ."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? Sing, dance, shine! Just another day in the life of a Glee club member, right?" he says, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

Suddenly he's right in front of her, invading her personal space, his nose practically touching hers. "I want . . ." he starts, "I want to be able to figure you out."

"I'm not that hard," she states.

"Yeah you are."

She doesn't say anything so he continues.

"You're both open and guarded at the same time. You act like it's no big deal when we sing together, that it's 'just how it is,' when everyone can see it's something amazing. You tell me I've got to learn to deal with whatever this is and yet I don't even know what this is and I don't think you do either. You talk a big game but deep down, you're scared," he says, his voice getting stronger and more confident.

"I'm not scared," she states, looking directly into his eyes.

"Yeah? Prove it."

"Prove it?"

"Breadstix. Seven o'clock."

"That sounds an awful lot like a—"

"Date?" he finishes for her. "Don't worry, it's not."

He backs up and disappears through the stage door leaving her to gather her thoughts.

* * *

It's not a date, so she dresses up only a little, curls her hair only a little, puts a only little makeup on her face.

But she's really nervous.

He was right about her. She is scared. Not that she would ever give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right, but still. Singing together, while difficult, is at least familiar territory by now. This? This is something completely new.

He beats her there and she sits down with a casual hello, reaching for the menu as if this whole thing is the most normal, natural thing for anyone to do ever.

"You look different," he says, eyes flicking up to her and then back down to his menu.

She takes in his blue button down shirt and leather jacket and realizes that he actually dressed up a little too.

But his tone is snarky so she calls him on it. "You do too. Nice shirt."

His eyebrows lift in surprise.

The waitress comes and they order and after a beat of silence she says, "So am I proving whatever you wanted me to?" She still doesn't understand why he asked her to come.

"Maybe."

"Maybe."

In the corner, a woman dressed in black sits down at a piano and begins to play.

She looks at him. "Is this some sort of singing challenge?"

"No," he looks down at his hands. "Definitely no singing."

"Okay. . ." she trails off. Singing is what they do. If they're not singing, then what are they—

"How did you get that scar?" he asks, interrupting her thoughts.

She looks down at the small crescent moon shape on her left wrist.

"Power went out when I was fourteen. I tried to light some candles and got a little too close to the flame. Been with me ever since."

"It almost looks like a tattoo," he states.

"Almost. But a tattoo would be a choice. I didn't choose this."

"And you're oh so big on choices, aren't you?" he asks.

"I choose what I do," she says simply.

"And what you don't do."

She looks at him. "That too."

He sits back and laughs a harsh laugh. "You are something. Fearless and terrified at the same time. It must be exhausting being you."

"Excuse me?"

"Just trying to figure you out," he says, his eyes never leaving hers.

She nods. "And what conclusion have you come to?"

"I've concluded that you don't know what the hell you want, Marley," he says.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I do know what I want? Maybe I've always known, but maybe I am a decent enough person to realize that I shouldn't have everything I want, that having everything would hurt some people. And that it's not worth it," she states, her voice getting louder with every word. He's frustrating her in every way and she wonders why she ever thought this was a good idea.

"And what do you want that you shouldn't have?" he asks, skeptically.

She looks away, refusing to answer him.

"Ah, just as I thought. You won't even name it. You're too scared to even say it."

Her eyes find his then and it's like something inside her snaps, breaking open a dam full of emotions, words spilling out faster than she can register them.

"Right, because you Jake Puckerman are the expert at going after what you want. Girl after girl after girl, none of them still around to realize that you aren't even worth half of the heartache they are spending on you, not even worth a handful of the tears they are crying over you. No, you don't stick around because if anyone gets too close they will realize what I see right now: that you are nothing but an insecure little man-child frantically hopping from bed to bed, from one hookup to another, hoping someone will ease your constant pain. But no one can, can they, Jake? Because the only one who can save you is you. And you're not willing to admit that you are damaged, let alone that you need saving. So why not just storm through McKinley High, leaving a trail of broken hearts in your wake? Because it doesn't matter how many hearts are broken as long as yours isn't one of them."

She stops talking then, realizing everything she just said and recognizing exactly what she just did. She grabs her purse and leaves.

She almost makes it to her car before she realizes he is walking behind her.

Slowly, she turns around.

"Listen, Jake, I'm really sorry—" she begins before she is cut off by his mouth on hers. He's kissing her fiercely, his hands surrounding her face, fingertips in her hair. And it feels so right that she starts to give in to him, starts kissing him back, starts remembering that at one point, not so very long ago, she was crazy for him. Her arms wrap around his waist and she pulls him closer. He moans a little, somewhere deep in the back of his throat and she forces herself to regain control, to break away.

"No," she says.

"Marley," he says, almost softly.

"No. I am not this girl."

"What girl?" he asks, his fingers running through her slightly curled hair.

"I'm not the next girl in your long line of conquests," she says, resolutely.

"That's not fair," he counters.

"How is that not fair? How's Kitty, Jake? Or Marianne? Or Samantha or Jaycee?"

He looks past her then and she gives a small nod, before walking back towards her car.

Her hand on the door handle, she stops.

"You wanted to figure me out? Well you got one thing right. I am afraid of voicing what I want. Because saying it, actually admitting I want something that I shouldn't want means admitting that I am not the girl I always thought I was. And I couldn't stand that about myself. So I don't say anything at all." Her voice cracks and she wills herself not to cry.

He doesn't say anything and she drives away.

* * *

She thinks she finally understands what it must have been like for Wendy standing on that bedroom window ledge looking down at the street below and up at the stars above. Could she really fly? Could she trust Peter and herself enough to believe it possible? And Alice, peering into the dark abyss of the rabbit hole wondering what otherworldly adventures were waiting for her if only she was willing to fall. Could she just let herself go? Did she have the strength to find out what waited on the other side?

* * *

Mr. Schuester thinks their voices need some time off before the last big regional push so they don't sing together for a week.

It's a necessary respite, but also a strange silence.

She's not used to the quiet surrounding her.

* * *

Jake and Kitty are broken up, Sugar informs her in the girls' bathroom as she hands her the lip gloss.

"Oh," she musters up.

"News that is surprising to absolutely no one," Tina states. "He probably cheated on her, just like he cheats on everyone else."

She stares straight ahead in the mirror, focusing on her now-shiny lips. They somehow don't seem to fit with the rest of her reflection.

"When will these girls ever learn?" Sugar sighs dramatically.

Tina smirks and heads for the door, Sugar close behind.

She pulls her hair up into a twist and then lets it go again. She's dodged a bullet, she knows this. She's protected her heart and that's a good thing.

So why does she feel so disappointed?

* * *

He shows up to her house on Friday night. It's almost eleven and she's wearing sweatpants and a tank top when he pounds on her door. She opens it to find an inebriated Jake Puckerman.

"What are you doing here?" she asks quickly. She steps outside and shuts the door behind her.

"I needed to say some things to you," he says, words slightly slurring.

"What could you possibly have to say to me when you're like this?"

"Shhhhh," he commands. "I'm talking now. Not you. You said a lot at Breadstix."

"And you kissed me. None of it meant anything," she states.

"Yeah, that'd be nice to believe, but we both know that's not true. Instead, there you go again, sitting up on your pedestal making proclamations about who I am without ever taking any time to get to know me."

"I know you, Jake."

"No you don't!" he shouts and she realizes the bottle is still in his hand. She reaches out and takes it from him.

She sighs. "Fine, what don't I know about you?"

"How about that I met my half brother for the first time two months ago? Or that my father won't even acknowledge that I exist? I punched that dumb jock, Williams, today," he stops, rubbing his face with his hand. "Sometimes I feel like I am playing catch up with myself, like I do something or say something before I think about it or realize it and then it's too late and I've gone and done it again and I don't know how to stop," he says, his words pouring out.

"I hate school and I hate this town and I joined Glee club. _Glee club._What has happened to me?" he continues.

"You grew up. You're growing up. You're wanting to be better. It's not a bad thing, Jake," she says.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" she asks.

"Stop saying exactly the wrong thing."

"It's only the wrong thing because you don't want to hear it."

"Marley!"

She realizes that she may be right, but what he needs isn't rightness. What he needs is a friend.

"I'm sorry about your brother. And your dad. That's not okay, any of it," she says. "And I'm sorry for what I said to you at Breadstix. It was . . ."

"True," he finishes.

They stand in silence for a moment.

"If it makes you feel any better, you were right about me too," she says finally.

"I know."

"So now what?"

And neither of them has an answer.

* * *

He sits next to her in the library during study hall and asks her what she got for number seven on the history assignment. She gives him a small smile and he smiles back. It's an unspoken forgiveness.

* * *

The Glee club sweeps regionals and starts intensive training for nationals. Mr. Schue declares that they need to emphasize their team strengths, including Brittany's dancing, Blaine's charisma, Joe's positivity, Unique's well, uniqueness, and Sam and Tina's experience.

He assigns the two of them the ballad duet.

She turns to him, excited. "Thoughts?"

"Do we get to pick the song?"

"Not sure. But we could at least suggest one," she says. Which is how they find themselves alone in the practice room, surrounded by dozens of pages of sheet music. He plays a few notes on his guitar before she wrinkles her nose.

"No way."

"Come on, Marley. AC/DC is classic," he protests.

"True, but this is _nationals_, Jake. Any old AC/DC song won't do. Especially for a ballad_._"

He shakes his head. She's already turned down Guns and Roses, Poison, Metallica and The Clash. "You drive me crazy," he says, flipping through a pile of staff paper.

She stops moving as memories of that first day on the bleachers come rushing back at her.

His movements slow as well. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make it weird."

"No, it's fine. We're friends, right?"

He nods. "Friends. I could use some of those."

She points to the empty choir room chairs. "You have some of those."

* * *

It isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

He still gets into the occasional fight.

"Old habits are hard to break," he tells her as she holds ice to his blackened eye.

And she still feels that thing deep in her stomach when his fingers brush hers or he looks at her for just a moment too long or they sing together and everything's perfect. And then she curses herself and tries to wipe her mind clean of any remaining thoughts of him. She understands just how hard old habits can be to break.

She stops for a moment to consider when exactly he became a habit of hers. She thinks of Sunday afternoon cramming sessions at the coffee shop and that terrible action movie they all went to see and the way he made sure he sat right next to her, so he could steal all of her Reese's Pieces. And she thinks of the day she met his mom and how happy she looked to finally be meeting one of his friends. And she remembers that time she had to stay up late to make cookies for the Glee club bake sale and she kept falling asleep so he sent her a video of Cookie Monster from Sesame Street every half hour. She smiles as Cookie's infamous tune, "Share It Maybe" starts playing in her head.

But then Mr. Schuester calls for them to run it again and the piano player begins and she looks right at him and sings.

She barely blushes when she realizes that he is singing right back.

* * *

The night before nationals finds her outside his hotel room door.

She knocks hesitantly.

"Hey," he says when he sees it's her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sure, fine. . ." she says, casually. He gives her a skeptical stare. "Okay, no, I am totally freaking out here."

He stands to the side and she walks into the room and sits on his bed.

"Marley, we've sung these songs a million times."

"I know, it's just . . . I could handle the Lima audience and even the greater Ohio one. But Orlando? It's all so new and there will be so many faces watching me. What if my voice cracks? What if I trip? I just . . . I don't know what I was thinking when I signed up for this," she finishes.

He laughs a bit. "Are you serious right now? You have the best voice of anyone I've ever met. And it's never cracked. Not once."

She gives him a half smile. "Thanks."

He sits down next to her. "And as for the falling thing? Don't you know that if you trip, I'll catch you?"

She closes her eyes and opens them again. "Is this one of your lines?" she asks quietly.

Because she honestly can't tell. They are friends now and that's good. But he also hasn't dated anyone in months, since Kitty really, and well, she can't tell if that's good or bad.

He looks down at her hands, folded neatly in her lap.

"Would it work if it was?" he asks.

"I don't know," she says, honestly.

"Don't you think I'm smart enough not to try my usual moves on you, Marley? I know you'd never go for something like that."

And she realizes that he has no idea how many times she has almost fallen for him.

"That's true. You'd have to work twice as hard," she says, nudging her shoulder with his.

"Believe me, I know."

They stare at each other for one heartbeat, then two, his eyes locking with hers before she breaks contact and heads for the doorway.

"So that's it?" he asks, standing with her.

"What's it?" she says, turning back to look at him.

He lets out a muffled groan. "You drive me crazy, sometimes, Marley."

She freezes because somewhere along the way those words became off limits for them.

He realizes what he's said, again, and starts to apologize. "Sorry, I didn't mean . . . no, you know what? I did mean it. You do drive me crazy. You're stubborn and you're guarded, still, after all this time, and you refuse to acknowledge something that is happening right before your very eyes. Happening to you, Marley. And just when we take two steps closer, we take four more back. And I'm not sure even what to do anymore other than tell you that you are driving me absolutely, one hundred percent, freaking crazy."

He's walking towards her now and she doesn't even know how to protest, his words processing through her mind slowly. Crazy. You. Me. Closer, back, happening.

He stands right in front of her, but doesn't move any closer.

"You drive me crazy too," she says finally. And it's not a big proclamation; she stopped giving those that night outside of her house. It's barely even fully formed words, but for now, it is enough.

He folds his arms over his chest and smirks. "Knew it."

"Smug bastard," she says, pushing his arm with her hand.

He raises his eyebrows. She doesn't often, or ever really, swear. "Just when I think I've got you figured out. . ." he remarks.

And she smiles at him, leaning closer, so close that she can smell the toothpaste he just used. Staring intently at his mouth and back up to meet his eyes, she says, "Keep working on it," before spinning around and walking out of the room, biting her lip to suppress her smile.

* * *

They get second.

She cries when they announce it because this is nationals and they got second. Second out of the whole nation. And still . . . it's not first. She's not sure if these are tears of joy or sadness.

He hugs her and she soaks the shoulder of his shirt, but none of that seems to matter, because on some level, they have won.

He drives her to her house after their red eye flight and the sun is just starting to come up when they pull into her driveway. His car sputters a couple of times, waking her up. Honestly, she's surprised it's held out this long.

She sleepily opens the car door and he gets her suitcase for her and actually carries it to her porch because he's become sort of a gentleman when she wasn't looking.

He sets it down quietly and says, "Night, Marley."

"Don't you mean morning?"

He rolls he eyes. "'Mornin' Marley' doesn't seem right. Especially when all I want to do is sleep. That flight was pretty rough."

She grins at him. Through some mistake with the airline, he ended up sandwiched between two very muscular, very exhausted biker-dudes, who decided that his shoulders would make excellent pillows. "I think you have some drool right there," she says, brushing his upper arm with her hand to wipe away invisible saliva.

"Very funny, smart ass," he says, grabbing her hand and holding it at her side.

And suddenly she's entirely awake, her cells bouncing around within her blood, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

He takes a step closer and he looks down. She knows he wants to kiss her, but she also knows he won't go any further than where he stands right now. He's waiting for her to take the final step. Any step at all really.

She knows her eyes must be wide as her mind races. She's so far gone for him that she wouldn't even know how to find her way back, but she's also terrified that he could destroy her. That he might actually do that. She's seen it so many times before. But that was back before Cookie Monster. Back before the Reese's Pieces theft, before they started regularly singing together, before they kissed, before everything really. And she realizes that this is her moment. This is Wendy stepping off the window ledge and Alice leaning forward down into the rabbit hole. This is it.

So she takes the smallest step forward and lifts her mouth up to his.

And it's fireworks.

It's the lightest breeze on the hottest day.

It's the perfect ending to her favorite book.

Only it's not really an ending.

He pulls her closer and her arms wrap around his neck and she starts kissing him how she's dreamed of kissing him for almost a year, all of her frustration and excitement and annoyance and joy wrapped up into this one moment.

They stop after a few minutes, but he doesn't let go of her. Instead, he pushes some of her hair out of her eyes.

"You kissed me back," he says.

"Yeah."

"You didn't do that before. At least not like that."

"Well, you did sneak attack me before. And you had a girlfriend. Of course I didn't kiss you back like that," she reasons.

"So if I had just been single, we could have been making out this whole time?"

She shakes her head. "No way. It took a long time for us to get to here."

He nudges her sneaker with his. "I think you always wanted me."

"I think you're too sure of yourself."

"It's part of my charm."

"Good thing it's not the only part," she says, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

He holds her hand up to eye level, palm to palm and slowly interlocks their fingers.

"I've waited so long for this, for you Marley. I don't want to mess this up," he says quietly.

"So don't," she whispers back, before kissing him again.

* * *

He meets her at her locker the next day and right as he moves to say something, the bell rings.

She nods in the direction of Room 103 and walks down the hall.

It takes only a moment for him to catch up with her and another moment for his hand to be wrapped firmly around hers.

It's just like any other Tuesday. She's got a third period chemistry test and they're playing dodgeball in gym and of course, she forgot the book she's reading at home.

And he's holding her hand.

* * *

The last week of school goes like this: they celebrate their Glee victory in style with a bowling party at Lima Lanes, and she discovers that she completely stinks at bowling. She works tirelessly on her four finals, six papers and two group projects. He works tirelessly at distracting her and he's good at it.

He figures out that she is powerless against his guitar playing and his fingers twisting the ends of her hair and him kissing that one spot at the base of her neck. How he manages to pass all of his classes, she'll never know.

When they aren't spending time with Glee, they plan. There's a whole summer stretching out before them and during her off days at the local ice cream shop, Sprinkles and Cones and when he's not working at Ted's Auto Repair, well, they have a list. Swimming at the lake, road tripping to someplace exotic like Ann Arbor, marathoning through all three Godfather movies in one night, attending the Columbus jazz festival, reading.

He grabs the pen out of her hand when he realizes the last item she wrote.

"What?" she asks, shifting her position on her couch so that she can see him better.

"Reading?"

"Yes, I think we should read together," she states earnestly. "It's good for the mind. Studies show that regular reading can increase analytical thinking as well as . . ." she trails off when she sees his face. His expression is priceless.

She breaks into a teasing smile.

"You're playing me," he says.

"Maybe," she says, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"I thought I was the player here," he states.

She stands up and walks towards him. He's pouting slightly and she thinks he looks adorable.

Her hands cup his face and she kisses him softly at first and waits for him to respond. When his arms wrap around her waist, she picks up the pace, kissing him more fervently and passionately, her hands pulling him closer to her, her kneecaps and hipbones and collarbone aligning perfectly with and pressing up against his.

When she finally needs oxygen, she breaks off the kiss.

"Still want to play me?" he asks, his breathing heavy.

"I think I just did," she says, holding up her hand and revealing the pen he had stolen from her moments before.

He laughs and chases her around the room before they collapse on the couch.

"Summer," she says.

He smiles. "Summer."

* * *

_Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all._


End file.
